costing you that sale. My desperation made me too aggressive and it wasn’t professional,” Rhiannon said before shoveling in another mouthful.
“I’ve never had anyone apologize to me with takeout before,” Carmela decided, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her lips.
“What can I say? My parents raised an original,” she replied. “So, what’s the game plan for tomorrow?”
With lo mein raining on her butterflies from above, Carmela tried not to be moved by Rhiannon’s act of feeding her. Instead, she focused on the only thing she could control: work. After all, Rhiannon was right about how busy and important the next day would be. They needed to be ready to capitalize on the momentum.
After dinner, Carmela took the dishes to wash in the kitchen while Rhiannon took the garbage outside so the o ce wouldn’t smell in the morning. Leaning against the sink, Carmela was still rinsing plates when the door chimed again.
The weight of Rhiannon’s eyes on her back arrived before her voice. “Are you going to let me see your tattoo again?”
“Absolutely not,” Carmela replied as she shut o the water but didn’t turn to face her.
“Why not?” Rhiannon’s breath was warm on the back of her neck, causing her eyes to close reflexively to indulge in the sensation of the body pressing against her back.
“Because,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You’ve already seen it. It’s not like I’ve added to it.”
Rhiannon’s breath tickled the back of her ear when she laughed. “What made someone as prim and proper as you get a tattoo anyway?”
Each syllable was followed by the slow incursion of her fingertips along Carmela’s back. As if Rhiannon had memorized the design and was retracing it over her dress.
“I’m old enough to have been entirely di erent people at di erent points in my life,” she responded, not intending to sound so sad. “When I was seventeen, I dated an older woman. She was a tattoo artist and designed it for me.”
“Sounds like a parent’s dream. I’m sure they were thrilled when you brought her home,” Rhiannon said with an audible smile.
Carmela shut her eyes tighter in a desperate attempt to keep out the memories she’d packed away decades ago. How would she casually drop a childhood like hers into conversation? In the silence, Rhiannon wrapped her arms around Carmela’s waist.
“What are you doing?” Carmela asked, her cracking voice losing any semblance of authority. “You know we can’t do this.” Despite her misgivings, Carmela couldn’t help but intertwine her fingers with Rhiannon’s and indulge in her proximity.
“I’m not doing anything,” she insisted as her lips grazed the curve of Carmela’s neck.
In a last-ditch e ort to get Rhiannon to pull away since she didn’t have the willpower to do it, she bruised her own
ego. “You know, I’m almost old enough to be your mother.”
For a single moment, Rhiannon didn’t speak. She didn’t move. Instead of freaking out, Carmela opened her eyes.
“Are you trying to do the math?” she guessed before rolling her eyes.
“No, I’m trying to figure out why I would give a single shit about that,” she replied before fully pressing her lips to her skin.
The touch was an earthquake splitting Carmela from her common sense.
“And anyway,” Rhiannon continued as her lips crept up along the column of her neck, making her knees weak with every new point of contact until she wasn’t sure she’d remain standing. “Why can’t you just be like my friend’s fun, young, super-hot aunt? You know the kind that summers on the French Riviera and has memoire worthy a airs with burgeoning artists.”
Carmela chuckled as she turned her head and rested it on Rhiannon’s shoulder. The happiness lasted a moment before turning into an ache in her chest. “Please don’t make this so hard.” It was a soft plea, making every part of her body tired.
Rhiannon’s response was a tight, two-armed, embrace that made Carmela feel small and protected for the first time in a long time. Or maybe ever. “It doesn’t have to be like this.
Why can’t you just admit that you’re into me and once we sell the house you’ll go out with me? It’s only hard if you make it.”
Indulging in a final moment of being wrapped up in someone’s a ection, Carmela took a deep breath. When she tore herself away, the sensation of Rhiannon holding on to her even tighter clawed at her guts.
“It’s not just the deal,” Carmela said when she’d wiggled away from Rhiannon’s grasp. “And it’s not my age. Not
really. It’s yours,” she admitted despite the painful pressure on her chest.